


Of First Nights, and First Loves

by Mely (Celyan)



Category: Dir en grey
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-08-03 15:58:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16329089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celyan/pseuds/Mely
Summary: And you know that tonight, he is finally ready for you.





	Of First Nights, and First Loves

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2009 for a friend in LJ. I’m mainly posting it here because of the second person pov, as I too rarely use it when writing.  
> (Obviously, there are parts in there that I would write differently now, but I am not going to change my old fics now, that is not the point of my reposting them here.)

Shinya is sitting next to you, one leg over the other, graceful, elegant. He’s watching the small TV, concentrates on it and not on you and it makes you want to do something to get his attention not on the TV but on you, where it belongs.

Where _he_ belongs, in your arms.

You wrap an arm around him and he leans against the side of your body, lightly, absent-mindedly even; but that is the only reaction. You suppose you should be grateful for that, but it is hard when there is something else you would rather have from him.

When there is something that needs his attention, harder than the TV. (The pun? Yes, if it is there then it is completely intended.)

You glance around in your shared hotel room and allow a slight sigh to leave your lips.

Shinya is oblivious to all the hints you’ve been dropping, all night long – or then he just pretends not to notice any of them, you cannot really tell.

He likes to do that sometimes, your Shinya.

And you like him best with the way he is.

But that does not change the situation at hand; you need him, you want him to notice you, to look at you, to smile at you.

To give you one of his rare, beautiful smiles; and you are ready to die for him.

“Shin,” you whisper, leaning closer to him, lips nearly touching the side of his neck.

He does not move, does not even shiver like he used to when you were younger and you had him pinned against the wall in the changing room, lips descending down his long neck with the recklessness only youth can give you.

Back then, you remember, he used to wrap his unsure hands around your neck while you kissed him and reward your eagerness with soft, barely audible moans that drove you wild.

Yet you never did anything more than those sweet, passionate kisses; perhaps you thought that he was not ready for you back then.

He was so innocent, your sweet little angel, that baby of the band everyone wanted to protect from the cruel word; you wanted it the most, and you distantly remember asking him if you could be his knight in a shiny armour, once, twice, a few other times.

He always laughed at you – no, with you – and wordlessly let you know that one day, one beautiful day like this one; he would let you be just that – that, and something more.

“Die,” he suddenly says, with his normal voice, and turns to look at you, all indifference mixed with slight curiosity.

Is he really that oblivious, you wonder as you look up at him, from that long neck you adore and up to his eyes.

His eyes, they are twinkling, merriment and a knowing smile hiding beneath those beautiful orbs you love to drown in.

You should have known. You really should have known, and you can only blame yourself for being too slow when he turns his head slightly, soft lips covering yours and the kiss goes forever on.

You do not let him go when it finally ends; no, your hands move down to his waist, one staying there and the other moving upwards to his back, up, up until it reaches the tips of his hair and slips beneath that silky, shiny mass of curls and your fingers began to gently caress his scalp.

You throw a glance at him and notice that he has his eyes closed, one hand resting on your chest while the other moves down to cover your hand on his waist.

And you know that tonight, he is finally ready for you.

\-- 

He lies on the bed in the nude, plush lips moist from your kisses and chest raising and falling unevenly; a sign that he is not as composed as he might have liked to pretend.

Right now, you can see through his pretence like it was fragile glass, and you suppose that this one time he does not really care about that, either.

You were gentle when you undressed him and when you helped him undress you; gentler, when you made him lie on the bed for you and kissed his lips to show him how much you needed him; but the gentlest you were when you made him ready for you, slowly, carefully, ignoring whichever desire might otherwise have overcome you in favour of showing your passion through light touches and whispered words of sweet nothings to his ear.

It was him who finally insisted you to move forward with it, him who asked you to show him your love; him, who lay there in front of you, open and trusting, caring and passionate.

And when you hurt him (as careful as you were, some things just are unavoidable, that you both knew) he let you kiss away the traces of his tears, smiling softly at the way you looked at him, worry etched on your handsome features; and he kissed you, urged you to move on.

And you did.

You made love to him, slowly and gently until his passion almost overcame yours; and then there was sweet bliss and unity only love can create.

He was yours then, and he forever will be. 

\--

You are back from the tour now, tired but happy as he has promised to spend the first night home not with his dog but with you.

He tells you he only does it because otherwise you would whine about it until the end of time, but you know that he is only joking.

He does that, too, sometimes.

You have it all prepared in your mind, the perfect night with the perfect following morning, breakfast in bed and time for just the two of you.

When you tell him about it (not about the morning but about the night, you want it to be a surprise), he just looks at you, smiles slightly and tells you that you are both tired from the travelling; should you wait and just sleep, for now?

When he sees the expression on your face, though, he shakes his head slightly but admits defeat; and when he lies there in your arms after you have made love (you still have your suitcase unpacked and so does he, but you did not want to think about such unimportant things when you finally had him where you had wanted him all along, for he rarely stayed the night with you before, and never in the shared bed) he looks at you sleepily and tells you that now that you have gotten what you wanted he needs his wish fulfilled too; and you chuckle, pulling him closer to your chest, a single kiss pressed on his forehead telling him he need not worry.

You will watch over his sleep, and you will hold him close even when you yourself have joined him in the land of dreams.

\--

When the morning comes, you are the first to rise.

As much as it pains you to leave him alone on the bed, asleep and buried beneath the covers (it is not your warmth that encircles him anymore but that of the covers’, but you know that this change of the heat sources is only temporal), you know that what you will do is well worth the trouble.

You make haste but with care, something you have learned over the years when you have had nothing better to do than to lie in bed with your dreams until the persistent sound of your alarm clock gave you its last warning, and return to the bed not more than half an hour later with a tray full of treats for you and your beloved.

He is still asleep, he really was not lying when he told you he was tired, you think when you gather him back into your arms, the tray safely set on the bedside table, and trace his features with your fingers; nothing but feathery light touches, care and devotion.

Waking up from his dreams, he looks up at you, eyes sleepy and questioning. You lean down to kiss him good morning and he returns the kiss almost lazily.

You then tell him you have a surprise for him, and you smile.

He raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow, then looks at the table, sees the tray and blinks.

You cannot resist telling him how cute he is, and he sighs softly but tells you that he had not seen that coming. 

Clearly, he does not know what to do with you now, and you are not helping his situation by insisting on feeding him.

Eventually he agrees, though, for he simply cannot say no to you, not anymore.

If you claimed not to be happy about that, you would be lying, so you wisely remain quiet (for once) and concentrate on treating to him the best breakfast you were able to make on such a short notice.

He eats it all, tells you how delicious it was, and then attempts to get out of bed.

You pull him down on you again in time though, and tell him that you will need him to stay with you for some time longer.

It is not like you have anywhere to go now, and his dog is still at his parents’, is it not?

A little reluctantly (you can tell but you pretend not to care) he nods and agrees to stay; and he lets you pull him back down on the bed, arms around his narrow waist and his face resting against your chest.

And you know that everything in that moment is how it should be; and if you could freeze time, now would be the perfect time to do that.


End file.
